by Natalie Grey
“Aryn?” The voice was low.
“Talon?” Aryn poked her head around the edge of the desk and bit back a scream as she abruptly came face to face with the man. Her hands shook wildly on the gun and he scrambled to hold them still and remove it. Her eyes darted to the door and back as he pulled her upright. “How did you get in here without me seeing you?”
“I crawled,” he said, wiping away her dreams of high-tech invisibility cloaks with a single look. “Come on, we have to go. I promised Samara I’d come get you.”
“We need to find Cade.” Surely he’d agree with that. She’d seen the respect between the two men.
The look of pity flashed across his face and was gone so quickly that she assumed she’d imagined it.
“I know where Cade is,” he said simply. He frowned at her. “One of our team caught the chatter on—never mind. Is there any way to get the blood off? We don’t want you to look noteworthy.”
“We have to be quick, the Warlord’s coming back. Is Cade all right?”
“Mmm. We have a couple of minutes. Better to get away clean. But quickly.” As Aryn spat on her palms and tried to rub her skin clean, the man paced worriedly, examining the Warlord’s gun.
“I found something,” Aryn told him. She reached out and brought up the computer screen again, swiping until she found the schematics. “This is something he wants help with from Ellian. Maybe it’s the weapon?”
Talon came to peer at it, his eyes flicking over each measurement and shorthand. His eyebrows drew together.
“I’ve never seen anything like that.” He pulled something small out of his pocket and took a short series of pictures.
“Neither have I. I hoped you’d know what it was.”
“We’ll see if Loki can figure it out, he’s good with machines.” His earpiece buzzed and he looked over at her critically, watching as she scraped her hair back into a semblance of a neat bun. “Good enough, let’s go. The Warlord is close.”
“And you said Cade is safe?” Aryn clarified.
“We have to be quiet.”
“Talon—”
“Quiet.” He looked over at her, dark eyes holding hers until she fell silent. It was hard to ignore the command in his voice. She wanted to obey when he spoke.
And, she told herself, he cared about Cade. He wouldn’t let Cade be hurt, would he?
They made their way quickly down deserted corridors, and Aryn tried not to let her bare feet so much as scuff on the floor. Talon, for all that he wore heavier armor now, was moving with the same predatory grace Aryn had seen in Cade. She swallowed hard; much as she tried to forget it, she could not stop seeing Cade in her mind’s eye, his fists catching James in the face, the torso. He had crushed the life from the man before James even had a chance to ready his weapon. It was only in that moment that she’d realized what, exactly, Cade was keeping in check. That was the faint shadow of control that she saw in every movement, every glance.
Her thoughts were interrupted when the comm buzzed faintly in Talon’s ear. He grabbed her hand and started running, and at his impatient look, Aryn hiked up her skirts again and ran as fast as she could, pushing her legs until she could no longer feel them, until her heart was about to burst out of her chest.
They skidded around a corner and through a door in the wall that slammed shut behind them.
“This way,” a woman’s voice hissed, and Talon pulled Aryn onward, yanking her up when she stumbled.
She bit back the questions of why they were running. She knew exactly why: the Warlord didn’t want them to leave. It didn’t matter who or what, precisely, was at their heels. And she knew Talon wouldn’t take kindly to plaintive requests for information she did not need. But in the dark, moving blind with only her own breathing in her ears, it was difficult not to beg for assurances that everything would be all right.
When they came out into the open air, the cool drizzle was a shock. Aryn looked up at the darkening sky as Talon hurried her along. The woman who’d assisted them gave Aryn an impassive once-over and took up the rear, jogging with a rifle in her arms. Like Talon and Cade, she moved as if she was one moment away from killing everything in sight, and the impassive, almost-pleasant look on her face only made the effect more unnerving.
A truck waited nearby, the old type with treads and gears. Talon evidently knew how to drive these, as he swung ably into the driver’s seat and Aryn clambered into the bed of it with the woman.
“I’m Aryn,” she said in response to the woman’s more careful appraisal. Then, “Did I see you on New Arizona? Were you the one who picked up the cash?”
“I’m Nyx,” the woman responded after a moment. “And yes. That was me, well remembered.” She nodded, as if having decided that she approved of what she saw, and then, almost casually, reached over and grabbed Aryn by the back of the neck, pulling her down flat onto the bed of the truck. “Lie still. Arms underneath you. There are spotlights.” Quick fingers pulled Aryn’s hair free to hide the pale skin of her bare shoulders.
Aryn trembled as the truck took off. Nyx lay on one side, peering through her rifle sights at the landmarks moving past outside. Through the jolting and jostling of the truck, the woman hardly seemed to move. Aryn watched her as if she were a living puzzle, as if from the deep brown eyes and slow, steady breaths, she might learn something about Cade, instead. This was what he had been, pure purpose, lingering humor around the eyes, each movement an efficient threat.
Why had he left the Dragons?
Shouts rang out periodically and Aryn bit her lip to keep back the very sound of her breath. Footsteps would crunch up to the truck as it slowed, and she heard Talon exchange jovial comments with the Warlord’s soldiers as Nyx lay coiled, ready to strike. Only once did the men get too close, and their deaths were quick, so quick that Aryn had hardly registered Nyx sitting up before she was lying back down again, waiting once more, and the truck had lurched back into motion.
When they arrived, it was Talon who helped Aryn out of the truck and hurried her up a tumbled slope of shale and rocks. His pace was quick, but now that they were away from the palace, he gave Aryn more time, letting her choose her steps carefully so as not to cut her feet.
“Where are we?”
“Right at the edge of Io. You grew up here, right? This is the outer set of tunnels into the bunkers.” Grudging admiration sounded in his voice. “I hadn’t known you all built these yourself.”
Aryn smiled in memory. It had been an exhausting two years, that, pushing sledges filled with dirt out one way, and bringing them back loaded heavy with cement blocks. The bunkers took shape slowly, with a great many bruised fingers and toes, exhausted miners sleeping in the corner despite the constant noise. She had hardly seen them completed before she left, and she had never used these particular tunnels.
“Wait.” She stopped just outside the mouth of the cave.
“We have to get inside,” Nyx told her, almost gently.
“Is Cade here?” She swallowed. “I…” Need to see him. Need to see that he’s all right. In the castle, she had been able to focus on the enemies, the Warlord, the trap that was waiting for them. Here, with a little bit of safety, all she could remember was Cade, the way she had last seen him: covered in blood, bruised, broken. She needed to see him now.
“He’s not here,” Talon said. His face was impassive.
“Where is he?” She had to get to him.
“He’s alive, and if you want to stay that way as well, we need to get inside.” He propelled her over the threshold and into the shadows.
“Wait! If he’s not here, I want to go where he is.”
“We can’t do that right now.” Nyx was clearly trying to be gentle.
“Where is he?” Aryn stared Talon down.
Talon sighed and rubbed at his head.
“We’re doing everything we can,” he assured her.
“Ellian has him, doesn’t he?” her voice came out, panicked. “You got me out of the palace when
I could have helped him, I could have gone back—Ellian’s going to hurt him, don’t you understand?”
“Ellian doesn’t have him. Anymore.”
“He’s hurt.” She saw it in his eyes.
“Yes,” Talon admitted after a moment. “But he’s alive, Aryn, and you know he would want you to be safe.”
“And I want him to be safe. They nearly killed him, Talon, and they did it because he was protecting me. I can’t sit around while he’s in danger. If Ellian gave him back to the Warlord…”
“He didn’t. Not…precisely.” Talon’s mouth twisted bitterly. He measured his resolve against Aryn’s, and then rubbed at his head, sighing. “If I tell you, will you promise me that you’ll let me handle the task of getting him out?”
“Yes.” Her answer was instant. She always knew the right answer.
“Very well, then. He’s in the mines.”
His words hit her like a blow. Aryn felt her knees buckle. He was hurt, he couldn’t be in the mines, he wouldn’t last a single day down there. They had to get him out.
“You’re going for him? Now?”
“Not now. We need to get the weapons distributed, and lead the assault. Aryn, I will take care of it.”
“You’ll let him die,” she accused. “If it’s Cade or the mission, you’ll let him die.”
“You have to trust me.”
“I can’t trust you. I’ll go for him. You handle the mission.”
“Aryn.” He was at her side at once, looking down into her eyes. “I’m sorry.”
“Sorry for what?”
“For this.” His eyes were almost kind. There was pity there. “But I promised Samara, and I promised Cade.”
“Promised them what?”
But she barely got the words out before his hand came up, a rag in his palm. The world swam before her eyes and she felt Talon picking her up. There was an exchange of words she could not quite make out with Nyx, and then she knew nothing more.
22
Someone was arguing nearby, voice down in a desperate hiss, answered by a deeper voice, resounding deep like a gong. The voices blurred and shifted and overlapped, sliding through Cade’s brain until he could not tell who had said which words, who was real and who was imagined. He thought he would go mad. He couldn’t speak. The world he was seeing might be real, or might be nothing but memories. Time wasn’t making sense.
“I think he’s waking up.”
I think he’s waking up.
Think—
Waking—I—up—think—
The voice echoed round and Cade turned his head as his stomach rebelled. Too disorienting, too much out of place, was he lying on his back or stuck to the ceiling? He could feel hands on his skin, catching bruises, and there was pain, but the pain might have come from anywhere, anytime—he could remember Colin standing over him with the nightstick, Talon yelling as the bullets flew in a mission, sprinting with Nyx through the sapphire mines on Vorekan, smugglers at their heels…
Pain pierced his side, sharp and cold and shocking. Cade felt the bile come up and he must have been rolled over, because he did not feel the vomit in his mouth. He could feel hands…
I think he’s waking up.
The voice was speaking again.
Can you—can you—waking—hear—up—can—me
It was only when the world snapped back into place that Cade could put the words together.
“Cade. Can you hear me?”
He didn’t know that voice. He took stock, woozily, on his knees. His hands were planted on rock. There was blood on his skin, and his head hurt like crazy. The hands at his sides were soft, holding him up cautiously. No danger, even if he didn’t quite know who was behind him.
“Who’re you?” His throat was drier than he could ever remember it being. The words scratched out with another heave of his stomach. A half-familiar face swam into view at his side, brown hair pulled back tightly, soot on the tip-tilted nose, and Cade frowned. The woman was holding a syringe. Was that what the pain had been?
“Do you remember me?” she asked. There was only the faintest echo now. “You had a terrible concussion.” She gave a pointed look over at the rest of them, and someone cleared their throat, but no one responded.
“Samara,” Cade said finally. He was beginning to put the pieces together now.
“Yes.” Her eyes were kinder now than the last time he had seen them. “I’m sorry you woke up like that. We thought you would sleep longer. We gave you as big a dose of the concussion meds as we dared.”
“Ah.” Now it made sense. He’d been through this before—but in a pristine hospital room, white-suited nurses monitoring the machines as he slipped under. The anesthesia had been nearly perfect, only the tiniest time dislocation hitting him before the darkness dragged him under. Then, of course, he’d woken two days later with a clear mind, released from his drugged sleep gently.
How long had he been out?
“Aryn,” he said suddenly.
“She’s safe,” Samara assured him at once. “Talon and Nyx got her out.”
“Wasting time when they might have been bringing us weapons,” a new voice said coldly.
Cade looked over his shoulder. The workers who had attacked him were ranged in a half-circle, their arms crossed as they looked down at him. There was fear in their eyes, and no friendliness, but Samara’s cold stare kept them in check.
“I told you,” she said with exaggerated courtesy, “that the Warlord was using her as leverage for some new weapon. Now that she’s free, he can’t make the arms trafficker give it to him.” She gave a lopsided smile as she helped Cade sit up at last. Her eyes were rueful. “I guess I underestimated the man. Or maybe Aryn.”
Ellian. Everything came back in a rush, and Cade shook his head.
“What is it?” Samara’s gaze sharpened.
“He didn’t do it for her.” Cade’s mouth twisted bitterly. He could still taste vomit in his mouth, and his stomach was heaving with an awful combination of hunger and nausea. “It was a trick.”
“Did he set it up with the Warlord?” Samara’s voice was urgent. “Were they followed back to the bunker?”
“I told you it was a bad idea to go for her,” one of the other rebels muttered.
“Shut up.” Samara did not even look as she tossed the order over her shoulder. “Cade, are you still with me? This is important. What does the Warlord know?”
“They aren’t working together.” Cade held up a hand, his eyes closing as he thought through the rest of it. “The Warlord paid off one of the other bodyguards to take Aryn, so they weren’t working together.”
“But you said it was a trick…”
“Ellian’s trick.” He felt a wave of shame. He had seen all the signs, and still had not realized what the man intended. “He’s using Aryn as … bait. He doesn’t love her. I think. He just wants the Warlord to think he does.”
Samara sat back on her heels, her eyes distant.
“He really did refuse to give up the weapon, then. He knew the Warlord would try to force him. He guessed it would be Aryn that would get taken….” Her brows drew together. “Then what’s he bargaining for?”
“I don’t know.” That part still eluded him. “Price? It must be the price of what the Warlord wants. But it’s a damned cold thing to do for more money—he has money.” It didn’t add up.
“Wait.” She stopped, her hands out. “Are you part of this, do you think? Did he put you down here to find something out, or—” She broke off when Cade laughed, his hands at the still-tender ribs.
“No,” he said, ignoring her offered hand and pushing himself up to his feet. After you get knocked down, you have to get up on your own, or you’ll never keep going. Talon’s words. Time was still sliding at the edges of his mind. Cade shook his head and tried to remember when now was. “No,” he repeated, remembering Samara’s question. “This was revenge.”
“For?” She looked up at him, not moving yet from the floor; weari
ness showed in the set of her shoulders.
“Aryn.” Cade met her eyes.
“Another reason he let her get taken?” she guessed. She, too, stood on her own. “Well, this is a mess.”
“We should get to her,” Cade said quietly. I have to see her. He swallowed back the words. “They know about the rebellion, but if Ellian’s playing his own game, there may still be an opening.”
“Talon’s launching an attack,” she told him simply. There was a warning hiss from behind her, and she narrowed her eyes. “Oh, for God’s sake, he’s on our side.”
“He’s a Dragon.”
“As is Talon. Which means, concussion or no concussion, that we’d all be dead if they wanted us dead.” Her gaze passed over them. “That is the last time I will hear you all say that. Do you understand?”
There were mutters, and Cade raised an eyebrow at her.
“You didn’t like me much at first, either.”
“We need you,” she said frankly. “And I need them to understand that. You’ve seen wars. What’s the Warlord going to do next?”
Something had been tugging at the back of Cade’s mind, and it snapped into place now.
“They can’t run that mission.”
“What?” She had been gathering weapons; now she looked back at him, brow furrowed.
“You have to call it off.” Cade was moving, looking for weapons and armor that weren’t there. “How the fuck didn’t I see—“
“Slow down.” She put a hand on his arm.
“No time,” he snapped back. At her blank face, he suppressed a wave of frustration and clenched his hands. Talon would have understood. Nyx would have understood. But these people here…. He took a breath to steady himself. “Ellian is moving on the Warlord.”
“What?”
“He knew the Warlord would take Aryn,” Cade said brutally. “It gave him an excuse to stay. The Warlord thought he had a bargaining chip. He wanted something Ellian wouldn’t give, and no one in their right mind would come to the Warlord’s palace if he meant to deny the man something. Ellian. Shouldn’t. Be there. Which means there’s something at stake beyond what the Warlord is doing. And Talon is still planning without that in play. They need to call off the mission. Right now.”
